


whom he may devour

by pelele



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Little Red Riding Hood - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood Fusion, Anal Sex, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Gellert Grindelwald Being Creepy, M/M, Protective Original Percival Graves, Smitten Original Percival Graves, Virgin Newt, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelele/pseuds/pelele
Summary: “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to go alone? They say there’s a wolf in these woods, Mister Scamander.”“There’s more dangerous things to be afraid of than awolf.”∾ ۞ ∾





	1. i.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keep creator's style on!

“the devil , as a roaring lion , walketh about , seeking whom he may devour.”

* * *

_nce upon a time in the deepest parts of a dark forest, where the winter seemed to never end, there was a village. And in this village, there lived a young man, kind and fair, named Newton._

_But this isn’t about him. At least, not in the beginning._

* * *

Their village was a small place, as far away from mundane settlements as it could be, and protected with as many charms and spells as possible, some so ancient and powerful that only a select few knew of them, and even less could properly ensure they were kept up. These protective measures ensured concealment from those who weren’t born of magic, those who would mercilessly hunt their kind down, burn or hang them whilst still alive. It wasn’t foolproof — no magic ever was, and whatever witch or wizard told you that was selling something else — and they were still vulnerable to other magical beings who came upon their home. But wizards are still men, and man, naïve and foolhardy as it is, cannot imagine anything more powerful than itself.

Percival knew of the stories. Of ages ago, when being and beasts had roamed side by side with those who lacked magic, in, if not harmony, at the very least a peaceful cohabitation. How the mundane had become furious, or perhaps it was wizards who became too cocky and sure, the stories were so old, but what remained true was that they began to hunt one another, too kill and curse for sport, then for spite, then out of fear. Perhaps it had been fueled by fear or jealousy or greed. The truth was so distorted by the passage of time and the fickle and biased memories, that no one could tell what it once had been.

(Sometimes, when he laid in bed, Percival felt the magic thrum beneath his palms, course fire-hot through his veins, and could understand why they were so hated, persecuted. How sad it must have been, to be born as cold and empty and blind as the mundane were, to know what laid so close and yet be unable to even touch it when others were wrapped in its warm embrace.)

That was why their village was hidden, why the outskirts of the forest were protected by a dilapidated wall strengthened with the hum and spark of magic, why they could not leave. The oldest of them, they had seen what laid beyond the walls, the punishments in store for those of magical blood, who disobeyed and strayed. for It was for their protection, mothers parroted to their wide-eyed children, elders droned to their straight-laced pupils. Away from that protection there was strife and suffering, at the hands of those without magic, cold and childlike in their cruelty. As long as they remained this way, hidden, they would be safe.

And so they remained, trapped in their own little world, believing that nothing could ever, _would ever_ , hurt them.

* * *

_Of course, that was not true. Otherwise we wouldn’t have a story, would we?_

* * *

It was Percival’s duty to protect the village. Not his alone to bear, for there were others, too. Trained from youth to uphold the peace and protection. It was they who ensured the wards were up, they who delivered messages to other villages of their ilk, hidden in the land. For Percival, it was a tiresome job, especially so in recent time. His people had becomes restless, tired of their hiding away like beasts, as they said. Some demanded they rally together to take down the mundane, perceiving them as the root of their misfortune.

Dark wizards, those who remorselessly wielded magic to hurt and harm others, had begun to raid the villages for willing soldiers, or for victims. _Unite with us, brothers and sisters,_ they would say, _raise arms against those who have forced us to scavenge and hide like vermin._ _Ours should be the world — not of the beasts, not of the mundane, but ours rightfully._

They would raid villages and towns indiscriminately, taking whatever and whomsoever they pleased. To join them meant loyalty and safety and protection, to deny them meant a swift and certain death. Their power grew with each passing day, and the tales of their dark exploits worsened. Sometimes they were so close that Percival could see the smoke of the pyres in the horizon. Things had taken a turn for the worse, and unease became a part of their daily lives. And it would remain so, for a very long time.

* * *

In another village, one far away, but quite like their own, there lived a friend of Percival’s. His name was Theseus, and Percival knew of no man as just, brave and courageous as he. Through the letters they shared, they spoke of the darkness that was slowly overtaking, of the struggles to maintain peace. They recounted with sorrow of lives taken, both magic and mundane alike. Plans were also exchanged in these letters, of the how to take down the strongholds of wizards who posed threats.

With the rising threat, it soon became difficult for their letters to continue. Owls were slaughtered, messages were stolen and battles were being lost. Human messengers were untrustworthy, for one could not known on which side they belonged. Seraphina, the leader of Percival’s village, was at her wits end.

“We cannot remain this way,” she had said as another wizard died at the hands of brothers gone rogue. “Something must be done, Percival.”

As luck would have it, one day a letter of Theseus’ arrived. It was innocuous, they could no longer afford to discuss their strategies so obviously through letters. With a wave of his wand, the letters rearranged, until the true message was revealed. Theseus spoke of their struggles with dark wizards, of the werewolves and centaurs that had joined their fight, how many had sided with a man of pure darkness known only as the Dark Lord, under promises that free of the mundane, they would all live united, as they were meant to be.

 _But that man only speaks lies,_ Theseus wrote. _Beneath his rule there would be no unity. He will not stop until he is sure that only those pure, and only those who follow him, remain. I’m afraid of what will happen if we cannot stop him in time. He amasses more followers each passing day. Something must be done and hiding from him will not help us before he burns us all to the ground._

_I hope this letter reaches you Percival. They know our homes, our messengers, and intercept our letters._ _From now on, my brother shall be the one to deliver mine. There is no one, no thing, I trust in the world more than him, and I know he will not fail us._

Percival trusted in Theseus’ judgement, and as Seraphina trusted in Percival’s, it was agreed that the younger brother would serve as the secret messenger.

 _How will we know who he is?_ Percival wrote in return.

The snowy owl that was delivering their messages arrived with Theseus’ response rather quickly, and in the letter it brought back was but one sentence.

_Trust me, you’ll know when you see him._

* * *

Seasons passed, flowers and fruits bloomed and ripened with the harvest season, and soon autumn would give way to the winter. There no sign of this Dark Lord for some time now, but there was also no message of Theseus which had arrived yet, and Percival was uneasy. Millions of possibilities passed through his mind. Had the message once again been intercepted? Had Theseus’ brother been captured? Had his friend succumbed to the Dark Lord?

“It’ll come soon, I’m sure of it,” Porpentina, another of the protectors and a kind young woman, said, sensing his worry.

The two of them sat outside together, watching as dark, heavy rain clouds passed through the dull gray sky. Between them, they shared a crisp apple, slicing it and taking nibbles of it. The sweet fruity scent took Percival back to the bright spring days. A few feet away from them, children played aimlessly, unaware and innocent in the way children are of the danger outside. With the winter season already upon them, the skies darkened quicker. The pair stood outside as people lit lanterns and candles, everything soon being bathed in the blue glow of magic.

Percival sighed, his breath fogging in the cold air. “I hope you’re right ‘Tina.”

Suddenly, the wind howled in their ears, the sound echoing throughout the trees and houses, and blew their hair in all directions. The howling became louder, until almost resembled the screeching of an animal.

“What’s that sound,” Porpentina said.

Villagers came out of their homes to look up at the sky, from where the loud sound came from. Percival and Porpentina stood and drew out their wands. From above, a figure could be seen between the clouds, large and winged.

“… _It’s a hippogriff!_ ”

Porpentina made quick work, pushing the children out of the hippogriff’s way, and making sure the others wouldn’t come close. It was not necessary, as it lowered to the ground with a grace that did not compare to its erratic flying, and remained in that very spot. Percival stood between them and the creature. Now that it had reached the ground, they could see it had been saddled, and not just that, but that it had a rider.

The figure, covered from head to toe in a hooded cloak of the richest red Percival had ever seen, so much that it strained his vision to look at it, slid down from the hippogriff and patted its neck with the tenderness one would offer to an old, docile horse. The hippogriff leaned into the touch, purring with contentment. At the sight of the creature acting like any other house pet, children began to creep closer, only to run back to their parent’s arms when it screeched and reached out to bite.

Porpentina was already speaking. “That creature —”

“It’s alright! Hush now, Alectrona. They’re not going to harm you.” The voice, a man’s, was deep, a kind hush against the feather’s of the hippogriff that measured whether they were food or friend. “I’m terribly sorry. She’s not good with strangers.”

Percival took a step forward, shielding the rest with one arm. His fingers tightened their grip on his wand. Who was this man, who so flagrantly came to their village — in a hippogriff no less! His body was poised, ready for a confrontation if it came to that. Percival couldn’t read the strange visitor, what with his face hidden beneath that massive hood, but he could feel the way his eyes travelled down to his hand, fixing on the defensive way he held his wand.

“Oh! How could I forget?” Two freckled hands reached up, pulling the hood back. Copper curls were soon exposed, and when the man shook the snow off his head, gold could be seen between the locks.

Percival took in the sight of the man. He was tall, taller than Percival, and his body was lean but strong. More freckles kissed his face, around plump lips and beneath his eyes — and oh, such eyes. Of a beautiful color, not quite green yet not quite blue, rimmed with gold. They were soft and rounded, and he could not imagine the man ever casting a glare or dark look. Percival watched as a hand, covered in thick, white scars that resembled bites and claw marks, reached for a letter in his pocket.

The sudden resemblance was there, in the long neck, the slope of his nose and shape of his brow.

“You’re—“

“Theseus’ brother.” He offered up the letter, filled with a familiar scrawl. “My name’s Newt, and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Percival.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I started this fic last year but then postponed it due to real life interfering with internet life. So now I give you the NEW and hopefully improved version of _whom he may devour_


	2. ii.

_llow me to tell you a story. Once upon a time in the deepest parts of a dark forest, where the winter seemed to never end and the world entire was white from snow and frost, there was a village. And in this village, there lived a young man, kind and fair, named Newton. So sweet and gentle was he, that even the most deadly of beasts, filled with venoms of all matter and dagger-sharp teeth and claws ready to maul their prey, would bow their heads and allowed to be soothed like children. In his heart of hearts, Newton believed the creatures to simply be misunderstood, and could never fathom that, treated with patience and understanding, they would harm him, or anyone._

_Of course, he was wrong. Otherwise we wouldn’t be telling his tale, would we?_

* * *

Come hell or high water, through storms or dry seasons, Newt arrived with his brother's letter. Despite his initial appearance, they all soon found out he was a man of reserved ways, almost secretive in the way he avoided talking to anyone. Newt would only stay in the village for as long as it took Percival to write a response, perhaps a day longer if entreated to stay for dinner, or to tell the children another story of his travels, or if he, by chance, found himself with a creature he wanted to know more about. Percival found it difficult to unite Theseus, the sure-headed warrior he knew, with this shy young man, who seemed more at ease with the creatures of the forest than with the rest.

Newt seemed unaware of the effect he had on the village. His appearance had roused a sense of adventure long dormant in them all, and especially so in those times. Eyes shone and followed him as he walked or tended to his hippogriff, people whispered about him: of his family, of the hippogriff he always rode in, of his seemingly unending knowledge in magical beasts. They would gather around him and bully him until he relented to tell his stories. It was one of the few times he seemed to grow into himself, and Percival would watch from the sidelines, from above the margin of his letters, enthralled by the green flash of his eyes, the red of Newt's cloak, made deeper by the light of the fire and the darkness of the night.

Porpentina had at first taken to batting her lashes at him, smitten with this strange man, until she realized he showed no interest. In fact, he seemed to shy away from any individual attention most of all. Percival took it almost as an offense, every time Newt scurried away from him, leaving alone him and at the mercy of the other's mocking laughter, quelled by a dark glare.  _This brother of yours, he's so guarded and detached, so secretive_ , he wrote to Theseus one day. _He walks making no sound, and his voice is so soft is confuse it often with the falling of the snow. He gladly speaks of the wonders he's seen and yet refuses to let anyone laud him for what he has done. He is so unlike you._

 _It will take time_ , Theseus added as a footnote to his letter,  _but he will come around to you. My brother, he is different than us, he finds a refuge in things we do not take the time to understand, but that does not mean I love him any less, nor that it makes him any different than us. Understand this, my friend, when the time comes_.

It was the least cryptic of letters Theseus had sent him, but Percival was still unsatisfied. He could not decipher why he was so focused on Newt, this runt of a man who had never been in a fight, still fresh-faced. Perhaps, he told himself as he prepared for Newt's next arrival, it was because he was also swept in the wave of fascination at someone new. Perhaps a part of him was also enchanted by his stories and lessons, his soft demeanor, his side-glances and half-smiles. Or perhaps, it was that he was fascinated by what Newt didn't publicly show: the curl of a lip in displeasure, the proud, almost maternal smile when at the creatures that almost spoke to him, so docile at his hand. The mischievous look in his eyes, those unusually green eyes of his, so much that even Seraphina had noted them one night. Something hidden beneath that skin, paled by the winter, laying dormant. The spring would come soon, and with it, Percival hoped that so would whatever it was that Newt had buried deep down.

* * *

_There was not a single dark thought in Newton's heart. He had no ill will when it came to the many creatures under his care. He worried for them as though they were his very own children, healed their wounds and helped them birth their young when the time came. No one could ever say that there was anything but love in him, love for the world he had created with all the beasts._

_But it was this very love — foolhardy and unreliable and blinding, as all love is — which came to harm him as well._

* * *

The snowstorm caught them all by surprise. It was the worst they had ever seen, forcing them all to wear layers upon layers and charm themselves warm, making it impossible to see the horizon, turning boiling water into ice when thrown in the air. People feared what such a storm could bring, but Seraphina dissuaded their worries. Not even the Dark Lord would be so ambitious as to bring an attack in the midst of such a deadly storm.

Newt helped him in rounding up the animals, keeping them safe while the others ran to their homes and hoped for the storm to pass. He did the work as he always did, with a smile, gently humming to the animals in his care, which followed him obediently. His red hair was almost coated entirely in frost and snow by the time they were done.

"Thank you." It was the first time they were truly alone, and up close, Percival could see his freckled face, a flaw in an otherwise flawless countenance. Newt was taller than him, and he had to stick his chin up to properly meet his gaze, which for once, Newt was glad to share.

Percival thought of a million things to say in that moment, but the burning cold reminded him they would catch their deaths outside. The waxing moon above them shone dimly against the gray sky. "Come with me. We shouldn't stay here any longer, unless you wish to be found frozen by the next morning."

"Worst things have happened to me, Percival." And at the sound of his name, Percival couldn't help but smile.

Inside his home, it was warm, but Newt still refused to remove his cloak. The fabric never once seemed to fray or tear, nor did its color dim. It was such a mesmerizing, eye catching shade, for someone so reserved. Percival watched as Newt warmed his hands, eyes drawn to the dancing flames.

"You've read the letters, I hope?"

Newt closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes. And Theseus told me as well. This Dark Lord approaches the village."

"He intends to make us his allies, or to strike us down. I'm afraid more will join him once he arrives. He's proved to be quite persuasive."

Newt became inflamed. Percival stumbled back as his face reddened and he barely contained his anger. "Then cut his tongue off if you must. But do not let him take anyone from this village! He speaks of bringing peace and unity but all he sows is destruction." The usually low voice was tense and tremulous, rising with each second. "His followers are blinded by his promises. He will amass an army and when he's suceeded or he tires of them, he will cast them out, or worse."

Percival watched as he slumped onto the floor with a tired sound. Newt gripped his red cape and wrapped it right around his body. He looked defeated, unlike how he had been before. Percival knelt at his side, but did not touch him, instead watching the flames like Newt had before.

"You speak as if you know him."

Newt rubbed at his forearm with his thumb, such a small movement it was almost imperceptible. "I know his _methods_. Despite whatever opinion you might have of me and share with my brother, I'm not naive." He sighed heavily through his nose.

Percival nodded. He remained silent for a moment before he pulled down the fabric of his shirt, exposing the thick scar just below the vein. Newt seemed confused. "I know them too.

Newt didn't answer. Slowly, his hand reached up and fingers traced the white flesh of the old scar. Percival shivered under the touch, and outside, the wind howled so loud it was deafening.

"You will bring an end to him," and his words were so sure, Percival believed him.

* * *

_One day, while searching for herbs to use in medicines, Newton wondered too far from the path, but he was not afraid, as he knew the forest intimately. He followed the signs the to take his way back, running quickly, lest a hungry beast make of him a meal._

_But even he, clever and cautious, was easily swayed, and especially so with his bleeding heart. It was the wailing noises of a wolf which stopped him from moving that night, and as he knelt before it, he found himself forgetting everything, drawn in by the bright eyes of the wolf, so beautiful, so blue, which seemed to drown out everything else in the world._


End file.
